


the brightest lights

by serendipitea



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Slow Burn, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitea/pseuds/serendipitea
Summary: In a world where the Avatar emerges from the ice years before Ozai takes the throne, the destinies of every bender and non bender are much different.After being separated from his uncle, Zuko realizes he has nothing to go back to and nothing to live for. Somehow, Katara is part of his journey to a new fate.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	the brightest lights

He stumbles tonight. The earth is uneven and his body aches as if his soul has been pulled from the very fibre of his being and then released right at the breaking point. His head throbs in a way no morning after a night in a tavern could imitate. And the wound at his stomach drips blood continuously, screaming for attention and healing.

Still, as he approaches the coast, he holds only false hope in his heart— most of which he blames his uncle for.

Seven years banished from home have aged Zuko and he has felt every day of it.

The first year was excruciating not just for him, but for Iroh to watch him rot in misery as well. Every attempt he made to return was met with a new obstacle that was insurmountable, and it ate at Zuko’s mental state. The second year was rage that could burn forests to the ground in minutes. He blamed everything in his life on the misfortune he was born with and tunnelled his anger onto his traitorous uncle. Iroh learned never to be hurt. The third year, Zuko decided that he would find a way back not by sheer force or stealthy evasion, rather he planned to gain his honour by returning with a worthy prize. And so he searched for some kind otherworldly artefact or valuable information that would win back his father's love, to no avail. In the sixth year, his uncle began training Zuko more intensely, but much differently. He taught him the core principles of living a life of contentment, of accepting fate as it may come to you, of acknowledging your faults and strengths. But on the eve of his seventh year away from home, all of Iroh’s teachings seemed to dissipate as Zuko’s aching heart yearned for his old life once again.

Mere weeks into this year, he felt that he served his time— that his father’s anger could have cooled. And with his uncle’s hesitation, they began travelling back. Back home.

It was a practical joke to the universe and his misfortune was the punchline much like always. That night, the powers that governed his fate sent down a harsh reminder of who he was and what it meant to be Prince Zuko.

Zuko and Iroh’s ship was hijacked by pirates on their way past the Fire Nation colonies. They barely bought enough time to flee the one rowboat tied to the ship’s side. But that luck did not suffice. The storm that followed after was worse than the overwhelming number of thieves that scratched their bodies and landed bruises on almost every limb. Their raft wasn’t enough to stand against nature’s anger; the lightning and dark clouds disoriented their view and the wind conjured waves that were intent to drown them.

The prince washed ashore hours later. The land was empty and the nearest town, one crawling with more criminals, was a day’s walk away. But he was alive. Alive and able to walk.

He was lucky for once. Unfortunately.

He still doesn’t know whether he was spared in exchange for Iroh’s life.

Weeks pass by after the wreckage. He adopts a routine: venturing into the nearest town at dawn and returning to the shore by dusk. He sits in wait for his uncle. As if he will appear at the horizon and walk straight out of the water, pulling Zuko into his arms.

That hasn’t been the case for a month. But still, he eagerly makes his way to the shore every evening.

Nothing can stand in his way, such is proven by his resilience even now, bleeding and tired and battered but still etching footsteps into the sand.

He collapses on the rough surface of the beach when his feet finally give out to fatigue. His eyes trace the circular shape of the moon glowing its otherworldly light onto him. The prince’s eyes drop to the moon’s reflection in the ocean, rippled and distorted but still so beautiful. His eyelids hang heavy and Zuko has to fight to keep awake.

He ran out of stolen money days or maybe weeks ago — he couldn’t keep track of time anymore — and the townsfolk were beginning to suspect the thief was the hooded boy that stuck to the alleys. Zuko decided he would have to find a new town, somewhere farther from shore.

But the suspicion was enough to prompt an attack tonight. He was cornered on his walk out of a pub that had no merchants drunk enough to be pick-pocketed. Three figures trailed him on his way out and surprisingly cornered him into a dead end. Zuko blamed his lack of energy.

When they hissed at him to hand over his possessions Zuko unsheathed his twin dao swords. But he overestimated the fight left in his body after days of hunger. It didn’t take much for them knock the weapons out of his hands. They stripped him, looking for anything of value and when there was nothing but a satchel of tea tucked into his waist, they stabbed him. The thieves left promptly, grumbling about the time they had wasted.

Zuko supposes the universe wanted to keep him alive and watch him suffer just a little longer and so instilled enough adrenaline in him to be able to drag his body back to the beach, clutching at his stomach and coughing blood as he walked.

 _It hurts to be alive_ , he acknowledges, as he stares at the moon.

Zuko isn’t sure whether he wants to suffer anymore. He doesn’t even know if it is worse to live as a banished prince or to return to a palace of deceit and injustice. Because if he thinks hard enough, just as his uncle would want, if he _really_ tries to imagine his life going back, he isn’t sure if he wants it.

He wants to give up.

His thoughts are interrupted.

A shadow races against the corner of his good eye, making it into his vision despite his drooping eyelids. Zuko’s brows furrow. There is no town here, no ports or trade. It’s what made it so safe for him to sleep here, away from crime and prying eyes. So what is this sudden occurrence of activity?

A flurry of translucent fabric darts across the wall of rock that enclaves the small coast.

Zuko clenches his teeth as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, trying his hardest to conjure a flame. It flickers for a few seconds until it burns out altogether. The smell of iron stains the air as the blood on his hand burns. He huffs. He’s weak and injured. So much in fact he can barely bend. He curses silently, looking up at the sky. The universe loves to laugh at him. Even his death can’t be easy.

The figure stops. It turns. It walks towards him, slowly. His eyes widen.

Zuko isn’t sure if he should stand, if he should at least try to save himself from whatever impending threat is to come forth.

He stays as he is. Either out of exhaustion or resignation. He’s not sure there is a difference any more.

As the figure approaches, Zuko’s heart drops.

The wide brimmed straw hat, with long flowing pieces of fabric drifting slowly as they are pulled forward. The long dark hair bouncing in the air and framing the face concealed in darkness. Zuko cranes his neck now. Bright red markings curl around the sharp features and draw his attention to the high brows and stained eyelids. The lips, equally as bright, are pursed.

The Painted Lady.

Tears brim at his eyes like an instinctual reaction. His chest tightens and his jaw clenches as if he were thrust into more pain than he could ever bare. He drops his head, neck giving out to its weight. Zuko falls forward, his hands coming out in front of him and grasping at the sand in desperation. It sticks to his skin, mixing with blood and sweat. He isn’t sure what it is at first when he tastes salty tears pouring down his face.

She came for him.

She came back once more.

“Please-” he chokes out, barely able to form a sentence, “It’s me.”

The silence that follows grabs his heart in its deadly claws.

“Please, you can’t forget me. It’s Zuko. It’s-”

He tries to will away his tears, a voice at the back of his mind tells him to save the little water he has left in body. But he can’t help it.

He has no one. And she knows. And she came for him. To help him. To end his suffering.

“Take me with you,” he cries, “To the spirit world. I’ve tried. You know I have. I’ve tried my best here, but I can’t. Not anymore. Not without Uncle. Please just take me to him. To the spirit world. I’ll be better there. I’ll start over. I won’t bother you again. In— In the spirit world. You never have to come to me again, please—”

She shifts in front of him. One foot taking a step back and her head angles away, dipping so that he can’t see her at all when he lifts his head.

“No! Don’t go!” he means to scream but it comes out weak and desperate, “Just end it. Just end it now.”

She looks at him then and she meets his gaze. She frowns and Zuko doesn’t understand. This isn’t pity or disgust or annoyance. It’s sadness. And he has never known someone to share in his sadness.

He wants to reach out to her but his body has even less energy than before, if it were possible. His pounding head feels like it will explode like canon fodder. His cheeks sting and his eyes are blurred by the water. The wound at his abdomen aches and burns as blood continues to spill out.

Darkness creeps into his vision and he thinks his pleas have earned him death.

He doesn’t feel it when he falls. He doesn’t feel her arms catch him. And he certainly doesn’t feel himself being carried off in what could have been a stretcher of water.

☼

_Searing pain._

_It blazes through his whole body like he’s been set alight. He struggles to move, he can’t see anything but fire, the sounds around him are like crackling wood and all he can feel is agony. Zuko wants to break free but he is immobile. Trapped in hellfire._

_And then he is dropped._

_His back hits cool marble and it stings his burnt skin._

_He shifts against the ground, pulling himself up on feet that scream as they’re pressed to the frigid stone. A shadow blocks the light beating down on his forehead. He raises his head._

_Father._

_He falls to his hands and knees, almost by an invisible force tugging him to the ground. Tears pour down his cheeks unnaturally, as if they’re being ripped out of his eyes. Zuko’s throat constricts, he almost can’t breathe._

_“Have you learned?” The shadows demands._

_Zuko gasps, choking on the carbon dioxide filling his lungs. He wants to claw at his throat, to pull away the poison that is making his chest ache. But he is pinned to the ground._

_“Have you learned?” The shadow is one step away from him now._

_Zuko’s skin blazes again._

_“You will learn. And suffering will be your teacher,” The shadow’s hand is raised._

_Zuko’s pupils dilate._

_And he is engulfed in fire once more._

☼

Zuko wakes in a cottage, the sound of water crashing against rocks echos in the distance. The smell of foliage decorates the air thickly but the scent of cooking meat is what curls into his nose. He inhales deeply, almost having forgotten what a meal was.

His eyes adjust to the lack of light in the small house. It is dark but a beam of blue from a window illuminates the corner of the room he’s in. It looks unearthly. The faint glow brightens about a metre of its surroundings, working only to depict a half-opened sack next to it on what seems to be a stone counter. The other light here is a flame, Zuko recognizes it immediately. It shows much more in its vicinity. A pot is balanced on top of it, a barrel rests below the counter. His eyes shift to the right, someone stands at the side of the pot making small movements that Zuko can’t make out.

A new smell permeates the air. Something smokey and ashy. Zuko reaches for his throat and coughs on impulse.

The room stills.

The sound of water dousing the flame pierces through the air. He curses himself for drawing attention. He can barely make out anything now that the flame is gone and his eyes refuse to adjust quick enough for his liking.

The figure turns to him, small and slow. Not a moment later, a hand reaches out.

His eyes widen and his heart beats erratically.

_No._

Zuko lurches away.

Too fast. His abdomen throbs and scorches his skin as it stretches at his wound. A groan rips his throat, making him realize how thirsty he is. His throat is scratchy and sore. He screws his eyes shut, willing away whatever new nightmare this is.

His headache is back once again, or it never left and he finally feels it. Zuko burrows his head deeper into whatever fabric he’s laying on, willing away the pounding sensation by sheer force. He groans again, in frustration, but it cuts off into a whine. And then a sob.

He’s tired.

He’s tired of the pain.

He is so _so_ tired.

It isn’t long before his cries quieten down, his consciousness slipping away once more in exhaustion.

**Author's Note:**

> back with a new fic wooo! 
> 
> i hope you liked this first chapter! please let me know your thoughts in the comments!


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